Chittu Kuruvee Designs by Usha Iyer

Kalpana reached out to open the door that led from the changing room to the pool area and suddenly heard her sister-in-law Pooja say – ‘Come on, Meera, you seriously expect Kalpana to come out in that skimpy swimming costume of yours! She’s so shy! Have you not noticed that she doesn’t wear revealing clothes at all? Even her sari blouses cover her entire back, and the sleeves cover her right up to her elbows’. Kalpana heard Meera say, ‘True! Sometimes I wonder when she turned into such a prude. She was only a couple of years senior to us in college, but now dresses like my grandmother! She’s really changed after marriage. You know, Pooja, we juniors used to watch out every morning for Kalpana to arrive in college, just to see what she wore for the day. She was always so stylishly turned out, simple but very graceful too. What did you do to her, Prakash?” ‘Yes, Bhaiya! What did you do to her? I know you were totally besotted by her looks when you were first introduced. Are you making su

My teacher asked me to take a few copy books to her friend, another teacher, who was teaching in a junior class in the next building. A break like this in the middle of class was always welcome. Also it gave one the air of having become a little special to the teacher, because she chose you!  The other building was also another school!  So I walked up, delivered the copies and skipped back. Suddenly, from nowhere, there were three boys in front of me and before I could say a word, I was pushed into a closed doors of a window. Old buildings had windows with sills to sit on. While one or two laughed raucously, the third felt me up and I could feel a hand on my chest. I don’t know what exactly happened even! Groping, I suppose that is what it is called, now that everything has a name. I couldn’t get a sound out of me. This episode didn’t last over a few seconds. But it has lasted in my mind forever. That laugh still rings. This was in 1977. The abuse never stopped. It never does in Delhi.

After 2 decades or more, I sat on a bike- also 20 kgs heavier now, I was worried about balancing and falling off! I was also worried about my nephew, Shashank’s shoulder into which I dug my nails in tension. Ever since he bought the bike, I’d been asking for a ride. My chance to ride pillion with him came when we were returning after attending a friend’s son’s wedding. I enjoyed every moment of the speed, of the excitement and the ‘ hava ’ on my face. The part of my face that was exposed, I mean, since I was wearing a helmet, something I never did ever before.  I was told I would be safe as long as I kept my feet firmly on the footrest (is that what it is called?). The heels of my pencil heels (I was dressed to attend a wedding!) kept going through the railings of the footrest(?) and every now and then I got them out, trying to balance and not cause Shashank any trouble. All this while we were moving. Fast.  Something is different about the bike’s seat design now. With every tiny brake

கௌதம் தன் அறையில், அவனுடைய அம்மாவின் பாதி முகம் மட்டுமே வரையப்பட்ட ஓவியத்தைப் பார்த்துக் கொண்டிருந்தான். “கௌதம்! காலேஜுக்கு நேரமாச்சு. கெளம்பல?” என்று கேட்டுக்கொண்டே அறைக்குள் நுழைந்தாள் வந்தனா. சற்று நிதானித்துக்கொண்டு அவனருகில் வந்து அவன் வலக்கையை மெதுவாகப்பற்றித் தன் உள்ளங்கைக்குள் வைத்தாள். அப்போதுதான் அவன் அருகில் நின்ற அம்மாவைக் கவனித்தான். “இதை எப்போமா நான் முழுசா முடிப்பேன்? இல்ல அதுக்கு வாய்ப்பே இல்லையா?” என்று அவன் கேட்க, வந்தனா நினைவுப்பாதையில் 10 வருடங்கள் பின்னோக்கிப் பயணித்தாள். அன்று மே 25ஆம் நாள், அக்னி நட்சத்திரத்தின் உக்கிரம் குறைந்திருந்தது. வழக்கத்தைவிட சீக்கிரமாக எழுந்து, குளித்துவிட்டு எளிமையான சமையல் செய்து முடித்தாள் வந்தனா. அவளுடைய மனம் நூலறுந்த காற்றாடி போல் எங்கெங்கோ அலைந்துகொண்டிருந்தது. அவளும் அவள் கணவன் ரகுவும் அன்று ஆஃபீஸுக்கு லீவ் சொல்லியிருந்தார்கள். தாத்தா பாட்டியின் அறையிலிருந்து வெளிப்பட்ட 10 வயது கௌதம், தூக்கம் கலைந்து, ஓடிவந்து அம்மாவின் கழுத்தைக் கட்டிக்கொண்டான். “குட் மார்னிங் கண்ணா! போய் பல் தேய்ச்சுட்டு குளிச்சுட்டு வா. உனக்குப் புடிச்ச அவல் உப

I grew up in a small town in Tamil Nadu, and it was the norm then for young girls to have their nostrils pierced. I was a proper tomboy and disliked the practice of wearing a nose ring/pin intensely. The jeweller would come on an appointed day, and messages would be sent off to all the neighbouring houses that may have girls of the suitable age. I somehow always managed to escape this event and reached my early 20s without having either of my nostrils pierced. Then came the time when I was ‘seen’ and ‘approved of’. My future mother-in-law, when departing, said, “In our family, the women wear nose rings. So, please ensure her nose is pierced before the wedding”. That was it; now there was no escaping what I felt was torture.  After a few days with my in-laws, my husband and I left for Calcutta where we were to set up home. Once we reached Calcutta, my husband said he never approved of the practice of nose-piercing, and I was welcome to take off the nose pin if I wanted. Gleefully, I p

स्त्री ज़रा सी नाराज़गी जो ज़िन्दगी से हुई, बस यूहीं कुछ देर मुंह मोड़ लिया, एक लम्बी सांस भरी, बालों का जूड़ा बनाया  और बिखरते रिश्तों को फिर जोड़ लिया! .............. At times she turns her back to life's pace, When things don't go her way.. She collects herself for a while, Takes a deep breath And goes about her day... .............. _____________________________________________________________________________________ द्रौपदी कृष्ण तुम कब आओगे? व्यथा का विध्वंस करने जन जन में उल्लास भरने... तिमिर ग्रसित क्लांत मन को मुख आभा से दीप्त करने क्या आज दरस दिखाओगे? कृष्ण तुम कब आओगे?.... ............. Krishna, when will you descend? To abate sadness, And fill the devotees with happiness, To light up my heart darkened with sadness, Will you come today? Krishna, when will you descend? .............. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is a picture of my mother, taken at my sixth birthday party. We had gone to a park with my friends to celebrate. It was a special birthday because it was the last one we spent together - she passed away 9 months later. It took me a long time to get over my grief.  I was hurt that my mother wouldn’t see me graduate, achieve my goals, or grow up. But what I was the most upset about is that she wouldn’t know my husband. He was filled with light and heart - just like her. I knew they would have gotten along.  A few months before my wedding, my best friend called me. While putting together the scrapbook for my bridal shower, she had come across a picture from my sixth birthday at the park. It was me, my parents, and my friends with a boy on his bike. It was my husband!  I nervously called up my dad to see if he remembered too. “Oh yes, he couldn’t ride his bike and he fell close to your mom. She taught him the trick of looking ahead instead of looking down to keep your balance towards

आज जीवन की संध्या काल में कदम रख चुकने के बाद एक थकान सी आ गई है। जीवन की अच्छी-बुरी, मीठी-कड़वी यादें चेहरे के सामने आकर नाचने लगती हैं। इस बात को हुए एक अरसा बीत चूका है। मेरी छोटी बेटी, जो सिर्फ तीस दिनों की थी और बड़ी बेटी जो सात साल की थी, दोनों को लेकर एक लम्बा सफर तय करना पड़ा था । साथ में एक सहेली थी जिसका एक साल का बच्चा था। रेलगाड़ी का सफर था, पूरे तीस घंटे का रास्ता था। तैयारियाँ तो पूरी थीं पर उन दिनों रेल का सफर इतना आरामदायक नहीं हुआ करता था। बड़े भैया छोड़ने आए थे, हम गाड़ी में चढ़ गए। गाडी में चढ़ने के बाद हमने अपनी सीटें ढूँढी। हमने देखा कि हमारी सीट पर पहले से कुछ लोग बैठे हुए थे। गाडी में इतनी भीड़ थी कि बताना मुश्किल है, कुछ चढ़ रहे थे, कुछ उतर रहे थे। दोनों के सीटों का नंबर भी एक था, कुछ समझ नहीं आ रहा था। इतने में गाडी चल पड़ी। उन लोगों के साथ वाद-विवाद हुआ, झगड़ा हुआ पर वे नहीं उठे। मैं इतनी छोटी बच्ची को लिए, बड़ी बेटी एक हाथ से पकडे, सामान जो काफ़ी था लेकर, हतबुद्धि होकर खड़ी रही। आँखों से आसूँ निकल पड़े। बड़ी बेटी मेरा आँचल पकड़े चुपचाप रो रही थी। किसी दयावान ने बैठने की जगह दे

I am Geeta. I love to make jokes about myself. I was 7 when I got tagged in school as the most hyper/ funny/ talkative person in my class. People used to love having me around as they enjoyed my chirpy, funny nature. They also liked my big fat humorous mouth which later got me into enough trouble. Some also made fun of me but never mind that.  I have heard that some of the greatest comics in history have struggled with anxieties, depression and reclusiveness and I believed humour could be a temporary way of turning the darkness outwards instead of in. Same. While it’s true that being funny can boost your popularity, striving to be popular is a dumb goal. Striving to be anything you’re not, in order to get something you want, is a dumb goal. But there’s nothing wrong with trying to be — and have — more fun. And there’s everything right in trying to make life lighter and sweeter for the people in your world. But people have opinions, And advice. Many told

Her ebony black wavy hair, edging ivory, shimmered iridescent under the faint rays of the vermillion sun; her visage pallid, fading into the darkness. Her eyes narrow and discerning, gazed hazily into the once verde garden now blanketed in light. For the first time in many moons had she received a chance to spend time with herself, mesmerised amidst her own mind. Silently humming the surreal tunes drafted in her mind; the next moment she was herself, yet twenty years ago. Gently touching her face, laden in youth, she was at the posh bungalow of her newly wed husband. It had been a traumatic experience, leaving her beloved parents from her petite town and advancing to an unexplored dimension in her life. As she metamorphosed into the multicoloured butterfly at her new home, she spread her wings, accepting numerous roles as her own. Beneath her euphoric personality, her hard working soul thrived, lifting spirits wherever she ventured; spreading joy behind her footsteps. Cla

I found an old picture of mine today. So hard to believe that I looked like that 14 years back.  I don’t remember when I last wore something like the dress in the picture, I sat there wondering how long it had been since my precious necklace saw the light of day outside the bank locker. How prim and proper I used to be; clothes and jewellery always well-coordinated, not one strand of hair out of place (unless required)…I think to myself; how different things are now. All of this is not important for me anymore. These days just being presentable and reaching the venue on time peacefully seems to be of prime importance..maybe I have become more accepting of myself with age, priorities have definitely changed but don’t know why a part of my heart still aches when I see one of my old photographs. I glance at the picture once again...how dreamy I looked. I remember it being taken soon after my wedding...the world appeared to be so different then. I don’t seem to relate to

I am a dancer. Not just my profession, dance is my identity. I was enrolled in Bharatanatyam class at the age of 5, and even at that age, I was mesmerised by the grace and abhinaya of the senior dancers - their perfect posture, crisp, beautiful movements in sync with the taalam . A quick sideways glance with a slight smile, which quickly transitioned to rage, then love, then envy, then sadness. I wanted to be like them, to embody perfection in the way they did. My dance classes were my happy place, where I learned to surrender myself to the practice and immerse myself in the stories of Krishna and Radha. It soon became a passion. I recognise that I have the privilege of finding my calling early in life and having the opportunity to turn my passion into a profession. Many a day I find myself spending hours, obsessing over choreographies and perfecting and reworking compositions. I am a dancer, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. --------------------------

I am in Room 26, propped up in a bed, after protracted labour and then childbirth. I had twins, and both of them, born naturally and full term, are in the hospital nursery, having been diagnosed with prenatal jaundice. So until their bilirubin count comes down, they will be monitored by the neonatologist while I lie here in bed, breathing deeply and being visited by my gynaecologist who has said that I must draw in my bag like uterus and encourage it to tighten itself into a fist sized ball. That, she has promised me, is going to be my best step towards weight loss and good health and a happy uterus. So here I am sitting up in bed, and the hospital bed makes it easy, since I can always ring the bell and the nurses will come in and roll up the bed for me, when I have to feed the babies, or when I have breakfast, or lunch or tea or dinner. It is now three days since the babies were born, and today is also the 26th of the month. Oddly, twenty six years is also how old I am

Indu, my childhood playmate! A widow! At twenty eight! With a six year old son! This was sad, unbelievable news. It had happened a week ago. I had to go and see her immediately.  After reaching Jhargram station I took an auto to Salboni. Indu lived in the small village of Sirsi which was about smile across the bare field. I walked quickly over the parched earth, the relentless heat burning my profusely sweating skin. Slowly the mud huts with thatched roofs surrounded by mango, mahua and eucalyptus trees, so familiar to me, came into view. As I trudged through the bamboo grove I heard the sound of water flowing. That must be the musical sound of Bose-er-Baadh , a rocky outcrop which appeared out of nowhere with the water of an underground spring tripping and jumping over the rocks forming a small waterfall and then disappearing into the depths as magically as it had appeared.  I could picture Indu and myself playing with the puppies and hens in the quiet evenings.

This lady has no idea her picture was taken by a professional photographer, who received 21k likes for it on Instagram with commentators praising the subject’s ‘traditional minimalist’ look and beautiful smile, which happened to be in response to an old video of her dog on her phone that was sent by her husband just before he boarded a flight home because, when she told him she’d come to her friend’s daughter’s cocktail function in work attire as there wasn’t enough time to dress up, he sensed she was exhausted and just slightly self-conscious (despite knowing their friends and kids wouldn’t care what she was wearing) and so their dog at her cutest had to remind her of the lightness of things. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *In a style inspired by one of the author's favourite writers. "Maybe your followers can guess who!", she adds

The young Indian-American couple sitting across decided to play their favourite game in public places “What’s their story”. Texting her boyfriend, the girl wrote with confidence, “Just like my parents, only younger. Relatively recent immigrants from India. He’s a techie, she’s a homemaker. She is quiet, gentle, keeps a great home. Gorgeous, isn’t she? Lovely cheekbones, chiseled jawline, lustrous hair, nose ring, kaajal in her dark eyes... He has been so busy at work, and she is exhausted from holding it all together. Now he is taking her out for a special date, so she is all dressed up - don’t you think?” **** Varun, sitting next to her, and unaware of being observed by the young couple, fondly thought of how despite few opportunities, she loved to wear sarees, jhumkas and gajras . Today, her mind seemed occupied as she forgot her shawl at home and was using her pallu to cover her shoulders against the windy San Francisco weather. Back when they were in college, he,

Cool and poised. Everyone looked at her with envy, The cool aloofness about her made you wonder about her. Everyone envied her picture perfect family.  Little did they know about the struggle going on in her head. She had decided that she wanted to live and be accepted as a person not just as arm candy. Without any wealth or family to support her, this was a tough decision. Today was the day she announced her decision. The sparkle in her eyes gives away her excitement to a new life ahead. What plans life had for her no one knows. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vatsala was sitting under a tree in her farm wearing her favourite red skirt and her sunglasses and reminiscing about the good times with her son, during her last visit to the US. It was always her long term dream to see places and had always wanted her son to work abroad.  But now due to old age she cannot stay with her son permanently. Vatsala has no regrets and has started to live a self- sustained life in her farmhouse in Tirunelveli.  Sometimes the loneliness kills her. The kids from the surrounding area come to listen to her short stories and songs and to help with the organic farming that she has undertaken over the years. One's desires and wishes change with time. As nothing is permanent, life must move on and it will..... To quote the famous Tamil line, "Mattram onre Marathathu. Maruvathellam uyirodu. Marathathellam Mannodu" Translation: Change....Change is the only constant. All that changes, lives. All that doesn't,

[Note : This is not a typical story. I was told the sketch demanded just songs :)] चांदनी, नैना, सिमरन, पूजा, काजल, तुम जो कोई भी हो। तुम्हे देख कर मन में कुछ इस तरह के भाव आतें हैं , 'ये हवाएं ज़ुल्फ़ों में तेरी गुम हो जाये  ये हवाएं ज़ुल्फ़ों में तेरी गुम हो जाये  हो चूमें निगाहों से चेहरा तेरा.....  होंठों से छू ले फिर दामन तेरा  अपनी पनाहों में तुझको भरे  मेरी आरज़ू को परेशाँ करे ....                                                        (बस इतना सा ख्वाब है, 2001) ________________________________ 'देखा एक ख़्वाब तो ये सिलसिले हुए दूर तक निगाहों में हैं गुल खिले हुए ये ग़िला है आप की निगाहों में फूल भी हों दर्मियां तो फ़ासले हुए देखा एक ...'                                           (सिलसिला, 1981) ________________________________ 'आँखों ही आँखों में इशारा हो गया बैठे-बैठे जीने का सहारा हो गया गाते हो गीत क्यूँ, दिल पे क्यूँ हाथ है खोए हो किस लिये, ऐसी क्या बात है ये हाल कब से तुम्हारा हो गया आँखों ही आँखों म

She had hoped it would not come to this. The stories she had heard about their possible side effects had frightened her. "These will improve your condition", the doctor said reassuringly, scribbling authoritatively into her notepad. "There is no need to be afraid", she went on to say before handing the prescription over to her. Stepping out of the hospital, she noticed what a beautiful day it was : a cloudless, blue sky and a breeze so typical of October in this city. She glanced at her watch - 3:35 p.m. If she hurried, she could still make it back in time for her 4 p.m. lecture. They would be discussing one of her favourite books in class today : Mrs. Dalloway.  As she waited at the bus stop, clutching on to her purse and the secret it contained, she suddenly realised how alone she felt. Except for her doctor, nobody else knew about her illness. She hadn't told anyone. And the illness itself was easy to conceal. A stray dog settled at

It was a beautiful evening, with cirrus clouds, chirping birds and a gentle breeze. Tabu and her Grandma were thoroughly enjoying the lychees, freshly plucked from their gardens. The verandah was almost covered with the big bunches that were kept away to distribute among the other villagers. Grandma was partially engaged in looking over at their neighbour’s balcony when she suddenly asked, “What gives you courage?”  Tabu was baffled, and immediately replied, “My Doll”.  Grandma laughed. “Courage doesn’t lie in these materialistic things, my child.” Grandma paused and said, “Have I ever told you about Veena?”  Tabu eagerly asked, ‘Who is she?’  Grandma replied, ‘“Veena was a very smart and ambitious girl. When she was 12 years old, her parents wanted to get her married. In rebellion, Veena cut her hair to reject all traditional notions of femininity and womanhood. She was unstoppable.”  “Was she your friend, Grandma”?, Tabu asked.  “Yes!” Grandma replied,

Motherhood has been immortalised through ages. Every priest will tell you that mothers are to be revered the most, prior to God also. Every celebrity mother makes it look like cakewalk. But what a majority of people do not know is that, there is another side of motherhood…a side which many mothers may go through, but rarely discuss. Aparna was elated, when her daughter was born. The child was cute, cherubic and giggly…. the kind that kids’ advertisements would beam. But soon it was evident that she had entered a tough territory. The years from birth to 3 were almost nightmarish. Changing nappies, feeding at regular intervals, putting the little one to sleep-multiple times a day, waking up at unearthly hours to the child’s cries (resulting in groggy mornings) were the norm. To top it all, the feeling of futility of being at home without pursuing a profession, despite being well qualified, ate into her. Though she knew that it was by choice that she gave up her job t

Ek dupeher ko anayas hi… Har roz ki tarah Sana (Samvedna) apni beti ke bal ki uljhano ko suljhaane mein lagi hui thi. “ Aaj kitni garmi hai na? ” Ritu ne kaha. “ Ha ! chalo thodi der mein aam panna banake peete hain. Kaisa hai yeh idea? ” Sana boli. “ Sure momsi. I would love that! Even papa liked that. Didn't he? ” “Ehsaas” ko zindagi se guzare huye ab char saal ho gaye thhe. Lekin zindagi ki bunavat mein Ehsaas ki kami Sana ke dil mein humesha rehti thi. Har waqt. Ehsaas ka garmi ke dino mein woh kacche aam le kar aana. Phir gas ke upar rakh kar bhoonna uski duty hua karti thi. Phir Sana apne “magical touch” se uska pyara sa Aam Panna banati. Aur dono saath chhat par baith kar usey enjoy karte thhe. Ritu apne phone mein, Instagram mein phir ghul mil gai aur koi gana gunguna rahi thi… Sana fridge mein se aam le kar Aam Panna banane mein busy ho gai… Ehsaas aur Sana ki kahani ka ek chhota sa lamha yun bhi…. ------------